The Light Brigade
by allthistosay
Summary: "Do you think it'll feel better tomorrow?" Will frowned. Lying didn't feel right here. "No, not really. But maybe the day after." Insight into Will's head in the aftermath of The Last Olympian. (cross-posted from ao3)


_While horse & hero fell,_

 _They that had fought so well_

 _Came thro' the jaws of Death,_

 _Back from the mouth of Hell,_

 _All that was left of them,_

 _Left of six hundred._

The moments between dawn and waking were typically few in the Apollo cabin. At the bunk next to Will's, one of his half-sisters was already sitting up and arching her back, letting the sleep roll away. The first rays of morning light were streaming gently through the window and their quaint little home was already bustling with the many children of one of the _busier_ gods. Still, even as teenagers roamed the early morning, the noise was uncharacteristically subdued. The low buzz suppressed itself to mournful whispers.

On the other side of Will's bed, was an empty one, which he rolled away from, just so he didn't have to look. He wished he was not awake. Kids filtered out onto the grounds, presumably towards the mess hall for breakfast and eventually they left only him, still lying lankily in pseudo-sleep.

The casualties of the Titan war left many positions to be filled, and Will dreaded the moment he knew was coming, when Chiron would call him to the Big House, and discuss one of the newest openings created by the final battle. Leadership was never Will's place-it was Lee's. It was Michael's. And it would have been so many of his other fallen siblings before himself. The number of empty beds in the Apollo cabin was now second only to that in Ares. But, he'd put two and two together, he was now the eldest in the cabin. This almost broke him, because he'd always felt like the youngest, like the one who needed to be shown the ropes. When he'd first arrived here, he had been. Will shifted his arm from underneath his pillow to the broad of his neck, where he fingered the beads strung around it on a braided hemp cord.

He was one of the longest standing campers. Sure, he hadn't been there as long as Annabeth, but who had? As a shrimpy six or seven year-old, he'd shown up near the camp border in the dead of winter, his body temperature approaching dangerous lows. Lucky for Will, an exploring naiad spotted him and got Chiron for help. His mind had been fuzzy and he'd lost a lot of the immediate time before he'd turned up, but Will could still remember his first few days in the Hermes Cabin before the bits and pieces started coming back to him. A neighbor that frightened him, his mother's rushed explanation, his father's name.

There didn't used to be that many younger kids at camp. Still weren't, if you're talking about the really little ones, but over the past few days, younger kids were turning up all over as the gods rushed to claim their children before they turned thirteen. Will felt negligent. If he were someone else, someone older and more responsible, someone who was gone now, he might take them under his wing, even in grief. He knew what it was like to be in want of a friend in a new place. It was a long while after his arrival at camp before anyone Will's age showed up, but he remembered older brothers and sisters who were kind to him once he was claimed. He remembered Lee.

Lee Fletcher was the first to teach him to wield a bow, though Michael, years later, had been the more successful one in showing him how to use it. Will turned his face into his pillow. Thoughts of Lee really called back a bittersweet fondness for long afternoons spent indoors with string instruments because, at seven, he could only ever get shrill noises out of woodwinds and puckered up pressure from brass. He touched two finger tips together on his left hand, imagining callouses there which have long since faded. They slid past each other and his mind began uncooperatively to play back other memories. His part in battles was not glamorous. Mostly, it was helpless; not being able to do anything useful beyond desperately hoping to revive those who could. Lee was gone much too fast, dead from the moment the hit landed. Will was dragged away from a barely recovering Hephaestus camper to see his brother's broken body, flanked by a younger sister begging him to help, as though he could have. The image burned in his mind. He wasn't sure if it was better this way: no body to be found. Or to remember.

Will rolled over and pushed himself to a reluctant and hunched over sitting position. His breathing was halted and his eyes heavily bagged. They flitted from cot to cot in the empty cabin, catching the names scratched into headboards and taking mental inventory not just of loss, but of the lives that would now have no other choice but to look up to him. What advice had he left for his younger siblings? He groaned and swung his feet off the bed, kneading his toes into the uneven wood floors as he gathered the strength to stand and face the day. It had to be better than staying here, alone with his thoughts in the place where they stung most.

Camp had been different since the previous year. The attack on their home ground lingered long after the battle finished. It was tainted with blood and war, suddenly dirty with bad memories. There were certain places he still couldn't bring himself to walk through on the camp grounds. Will let that feeling settle over him, sinking into his sore limbs, broadening the scope in his mind to include all of Manhattan. These were not the things he wanted to think of his home.

Dragging himself out the door and across the way in the vague direction of the mess hall, he saw out of the corner of his eye a parade of lost looking wanderers like himself. Drew Tanaka, looking hardened and determined. Will thought regretfully of Silena and remembered seeing the two laughing together, looking like blood sisters. Now there was a resolute anger set in her features. Pollux, the son of Dionysus, glaring at his poor arm held in a sling that Will recognized as his own handiwork but didn't completely remember treating. Nico di Angelo standing in the shadows with a young girl, maybe eight years old, that Will didn't remember seeing before. He chalked it up to the influx of new campers. It was good to know that someone had time for them. A group of campers watched him anxiously, whispering. Nico was the hero of the day, an instant object of curiosity.

"Will." The voice came from behind him and was soft in a way it wasn't quite used to. He stopped walking and turned to see fiercely ginger hair and paint stains.

"Rachel." It came out hoarsely. Rachel Dare was a part of the camp, but not like the campers. A part of Apollo, but not like his children. She'd hardly been here a week and couldn't possibly know that many people. How do you make friends when you're the freaking Oracle? Will could have felt a little sorry for her if he felt less sorry for himself.

"Chiron-" The flash of empathy disappeared at once as he realised why she was here. It had taken long enough. "Chiron wants to talk to you, Will."

Numbly he mumbled, "Of course he does."

"I'm sure this can't be easy," Rachel said kindly, but uncomfortably. She didn't know Michael. She didn't know anyone.

"I'll just...head over there then." She nodded stiffly, curly hair bobbing up and down. Will took a step forward, back in the direction of the cabins, and in the distance, the Big House. Behind him, Rachel waited for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Will." He hesitated, then nodded over his shoulder and kept walking. It wasn't okay, but it wasn't her fault either.

The walk to the Big House gave him more time to ruminate on the task he was about to receive than he would have liked. Time seemed to conspire against him. The days immediately following the battle were dedicated to the injured, who still crowded the infirmary. The more serious conditions were dealt with by Apollo himself, leaving Will without anything to preoccupy himself with once all the cuts and bruises were dealt with. The first few days, many of his siblings still wondered about Michael, if he might still be found. Recovery teams were sent out to for MIA campers and even Will had at first felt a golf ball sized lump of hope building up in his chest when they never brought back his body. He wasn't sure what he felt anymore. The longer he spent thinking about it, the more reasons he came up with that told him Michael was gone for good. It was also the only option he allowed himself to consider now that it was his responsibility to deal with the aftermath. There was no use in pretending otherwise.

Will had always been good with the younger campers. He liked kids, and he wanted to be someone to look up to. Before, there had always been older, more experienced siblings for him to aspire to, to defer to. This was different. He looked up. Before him stood the wide entrance of a familiar blue building. The table and chairs on the porch where he'd seen Mr. D play pinochle a thousand times were empty. It once struck him as natural that the Big House should be that: a house. For Will, the camp was home and the Big House was practically the front door. Looming before him now, it just seemed big. He swallowed, then shouldered the door open and walked inside.

The foyer contained a couple of couches and one of those water dispensers with the big blue plastic jug sitting upside-down on top. The walls were decorated with posters that said things like "Always drink your Nectar!" and "Rules of Greek Fire Safety". A door on the west wall led off into a wing with a couple of rooms that were used as an infirmary. It could nearly be a normal day; he could be on his way in to pick up a shift. A fuzzy conversation surfaced from the past week, and he recalled mentions of the construction of a dedicated infirmary when the new cabins started going up. Soon these rooms would be something else. Will wondered what use they might be put to.

On the wall opposite, a slightly ajar door led into Chiron's office. From there, Will knew another door went into his private quarters. He imagined for a moment that Chiron wouldn't be there at all, but just as quickly spotted the signs of life. Light shown from the crack, and he could hear something coming like anxious pen-tapping from inside. Will retrieved a dixie cup, separating it from the stack with some difficulty. He filled it with cold water and tossed it back. It did nothing for his dry throat, but he refilled it anyways before making his move towards Chiron's office.

"Will," the old man looked up without Will announcing his presence. He was suddenly struck by how old Chiron appeared. Old and tired.

"Chiron, sir," Will mumbled, "You wanted to see me." He felt more like a child than ever, and wondered selfishly if Chiron could see that. If he could see how incompetent Will was, how unprepared. Maybe if he could, he'd reconsider.

"Sit down, Will," Chiron said, his voice gravelly and sad. Will remembered how there wasn't anyone else to consider. It was just him. "I'm sure you are as aware as I am that the Apollo cabin now finds itself in need of a Head Counselor." He sat, sinking low into the squashy green chair across from the desk, still cradling the paper cup in both hands. "I know this has been difficult for you, as it is for me. We've lost too many children, been victim to too many tragedies. And I hate to ask you to take on one more burden." The centaur's eyes sparkled and Will could see the bags under them.

"I…" he started, but his voice cracked and he thought saying even a single word would push him over the edge.

Chiron nodded sympathetically and went on, "You're the eldest Apollo camper now, Will. Not only that, but you're one of the kindest and most diligent members of our community. It was never a question of whether you can handle this responsibility, because I know that you can." He paused, surveying Will quietly for the briefest of moments. "Now, it's just a question of whether you're willing."

Startled, Will looked up, making eye contact for the first time, "I have a choice?" He'd never even considered the idea.

"Of course you have a choice, Will. You have a duty to yourself as much as your siblings," Chiron said softly. "If you're not comfortable accepting the position, we'll delegate the Apollo cabin to one of the other counselors until another candidate makes themselves clear. No harm done."

"Oh." Will shrunk a little. It seemed obvious. Of course he wouldn't be forced into the job against his will. That wasn't how things worked here. He brought his cup to his lips and let more water trickle down his throat.

"You may take some time to contemplate, if you like. I understand it's a big decision to make while I'm certain you have many other things on your mind." Will nodded mutely, picturing one of the older campers who'd made it through the battle taking over all the responsibilities he feared would fall to him. Maybe it would be Percy, since he had no real cabin of his own, short of Tyson. Or maybe it was stupid to think that, since Percy had just saved the world and surely had better things to do than herd young Apollo kids between Arts & Crafts and the climbing wall. Will frowned.

"Yeah, uh. I'll think about it," he mumbled, voice weakened. "I'll let you know, um, soon."

"Of course," Chiron said sympathetically. Will burned with the need to be anywhere else. "Will, please don't hesitate to speak with me about anything, should you desire to. Your siblings too, I'm certain could alleviate some of your grief, as you might be able to help with theirs. This is a time for community."

"Um. I will," he stood to leave, crushing his paper cup beneath his fingers and pausing in the doorway when Chiron cleared his throat again. He looked over his shoulder.

"No man is an island, Will."

Will practically ran out. His feet carried him back to the Apollo cabin of their own accord, but when faced with the golden cabin, Will couldn't bring himself to go inside. He sat down where he was, on the grass just outside the building, pretzeling his legs like a third grader. Criss-cross applesauce. The knots in his stomach hadn't come untied and his lungs didn't feel like they were working properly. He should be relieved, but somehow the decision facing him now was worse than having no choice at all. Accepting meant that Michael was gone, replaceable. Replaceable, even, by the likes of Will, who could barely take care of himself. How could anyone leave his siblings in the hands of someone like him, only a kid himself? A child and a goddamn mess. He began shredding the paper cup into uneven, pastel-colored strips. But, then, how could he willingly leave his siblings to someone else? Again, Will imagined his siblings being paraded around by a faceless older camper. It couldn't possibly be right to tell them that he didn't want them, couldn't handle them.

He held his breath until he thought his lungs might cooperate with him again and pulled up a blade of grass. Sliding his thumbnail into the fold, Will sliced it cleanly in half lengthwise and tried not to think about his impending decision or how it felt like neither option at his disposal would be good for anyone. He wished he could talk to Michael. If he could, there would be nothing to talk about. He found another parallel vein in the blade of grass and tore it into two more pieces and again until there was no more of the grass to break apart.

"Will?" His head shot up and for a moment he saw his sister not as the t-shirt clad girl in front of him but as the young child he so recently watched running off to set traps on the Brooklyn Bridge. His vision cleared. Kayla sat down next to him. "How're you doing?"

"I'm...good, Kayla. I'm good. How are you?" She blinked at him, chewing on a strand of ginger hair. Will watched her with concern, his crisis briefly dissipating.

"You're not good." He blinked back, then opened his mouth to argue. Kayla shook her head, "It's okay. I'm not either." A pause. "I don't really think any of us are."

Will couldn't look at her. He was certain that, if he did, it would break him. She pulled his hand out of his lap and held it tightly. He squeezed back.

"Thanks, Kay."

They sat there like that, together, for a while. Will wasn't really sure how long.

"What do you think it's like?" Kayla asked after they watched an unfamiliar young boy walk by with a satyr, chatting animatedly, alight with the discovery of this untapped identity. "Being new. Getting here right after it all happened."

Will stared after them. "Probably scary, if they ever stop to think about it. Which they will, once they get past the excitement." He took a deep breath. "They'll need us to show them the ropes. So they can stay safe. As safe as they can."

Kayla watched him admiringly. "You're good at that, you know." Will turned back to see her face.

"Yeah?" he murmured. "You will be too. I'm gonna need your help."

"Okay." She fixed him with a hard look and asked, "Do you think it'll feel better tomorrow?"

Will frowned. Lying didn't feel right here. "No, not really. But maybe the day after." He stood up. "Come on, let's get some lunch."


End file.
